


For A Good Reason

by emersonmermaid



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11599800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emersonmermaid/pseuds/emersonmermaid
Summary: You had never believed in the whole "soulmate" business before. Honestly, you thought it was a hoax, created by fools who were trying to get attention. But when a new set of mysterious injuries began to show up on your body every week, you found yourself questioning everything you once knew about the topic. You knew you weren't wreaking havoc to your skin, so who was? And what in god's name was he doing?Peter Parker x Reader fanficThis is a self insert story, so it includes (Y/N) and (Y/L/N)~





	1. The Beginning

You were cursed. There was simply no other logical way to put it.

For the last month, the strangest things had been happening to you. You'd go to bed fine, and wake up with a set of new and mysterious injuries.

The first week it happened, you didn't think much of the black eye and the three gashes on your arm. You supposed that you accidentally hit your eye on your bedpost while sleeping, and the scrapes accumulated after spending too much time fooling around at your lab table in chemistry class. People were curious, but they lost interest when you explained your confusion as well.

::.

The second week consisted of similar injuries. A fresh bruise danced along your cheekbone, shortly after your bloodshot eye had healed from the previous week. On that Thursday, you yelped as you tried to stand while getting out of bed. You slipped back onto your blankets when your ankle gave out slightly. Frowning in confusion, you rubbed around the bones and managed to succeed in standing up the next time you tried.

Your mother was concerned to say the least. She knew that you had never been one to get into trouble, so you weren't surprised when she confronted you after noticing your slight limp while emerging from the bathroom.

"(Y/N), What's going on with you?" Your mom questioned. You lazily walked over to where she was standing in the kitchen and sat down at the counter.

"What, you mean this?" You asked, while lifting your leg into the air and dramatically gesturing to your swollen ankle. "I don't know mom, I might have twisted it in gym yesterday or something," You said while shrugging. While carefully pulling on your shoes, your mom spoke up again.

"What about your eye?" You looked up to meet her eyes as her fingertips grazed the colorful bruise on your cheek, making you wince. Gently swatting her hand away, you replied, "Not sure. I have to go, I'll see you after school," "I want you home right after class!" She yelled as you shut the door behind you.

::.

The third week you were irritable. The increasing questions at school and at home were exhausting and annoying because frankly, you had no idea how to answer them. On Monday you woke up to a dislocated hand and although it wasn't too painful, you mother insisted on you wearing her old wrist brace from her days of softball. After blowing off nearly an inch of dust, you velcro-ed the cast into place and wondered how you were going to write properly at school that day.

Your friends wouldn't let you hear the end of it. As you walked into school that day, Michelle, your friend from chemistry, slowed to a stop as you approached her in the hallway.

"You are so much more of a klutz than I thought you were," she blurted out while raising a single eyebrow. You rolled your eyes and linked arms with her as you strolled forward. "I think some higher power is trying to smite me," you voiced bluntly. "Honestly. It makes no sense. I haven't been doing anything out of the ordinary, yet I'm all beaten and bruised. I'm running out of excuses to tell people because I'm starting to question it all too."

Michelle looked over at you and leaned in real close, "maybe you're one of....the few," she suggested eerily, before throwing her head back and laughing loudly. You paused in the hallway to smack her arm and scowled. "Don't joke about that, it's not funny," you scolded, and walked ahead.

You knew about 'the few'. Every once in a while you'd hear about a couple who spoke out about shared injuries. Whenever one would get hurt, the other showed the same symptoms. Just last month, a couple from the grade above you got together because of this claim. It was a worldly phenomenon, but extremely rare. Although you heard the stories, you openly rejected the possibility of a soulmate. Michelle knew this, so you were not happy that she brought it up.

You heard Michelle speak as she ran up behind you, "Okay, so you refuse to believe in the possibility of a soulmate but your first idea to suggest is that there's a god trying to smite you?" She asked. "I don't know, okay? This is just really weird," you blanched, while looking at her.

That night you couldn't sleep.

::.

The fourth week lead to a family intervention. Your mother called you out of your room for dinner, and when you arrived in the kitchen, your parents were seated at the table with their hands folded. "Please sit, (Y/N)," your dad spoke up. You hesitantly pulled out a chair and sat down across from your rather nervous looking parents.

"I think you know what this is about," your mom shifted her eyes over your scraped up face and bruised collarbones. "Why won't you tell us what is going on?"

It took everything you had in you not to burst out in emotion.

Calmly, you swallowed your anger and blinked back frustrated tears. "Because I don't know what is going on. Every day I wake up with these new injuries and it's driving me as far up the wall as you. I swear I'm not doing anything! I want the same answers as you do, too." You finished and looked down at your lap. The skin around your fingernails was suffering, as it's a nervous habit of yours to pick at the hangnails there. You could hear your parents talking quietly between themselves and you looked up to get a better idea of what they were saying. Finally, they turned back to address you.

"We think maybe you should see someone. You know, so you can talk about what is going on and try to get some help," your mom quietly offered. As this idea sunk in, you shrunk down into your chair and raised a hand to rub over your eyes. Slowly, you began to shake your head. "I don't think that's necessary, mom. Neither of us will get answers from a stranger," you paused momentarily to tentatively touch a scrape on your shoulder. The action didn't go unnoticed.

"I know, (Y/N), but it wouldn't hurt to try-," "I'm not going to see a therapist," you said at last. You gripped the edge of the table as you pushed out your chair and stood. "I'm going to figure this out on my own." You began to turn around, but stopped again a few paces away, "and whenever dinner is actually ready, I'd like to eat in my room."

::.

That night was your breaking point. You called Michelle sobbing, curled up in your bed while cradling your jaw. With your phone loosely tucked in the crook of your neck, you heard Michelle say that she'd be over shortly.

It was 20 minutes later when a soft knock sounded at your door, and a head of messy brunette hair peeked in from outside of it. "Hey, (Y/N)," Michelle spoke softly. She stepped inside your room and closed the door behind her. You blinked slowly and tried a small smile as she sat down on the edge of your bed.

"Thanks for coming," you replied, mustering up the energy to sit up from your position. "How does it look?" Michelle tilted her head to peer at your jaw as you removed your hand. Slowly, you shifted the angle of your head. "Not too bad actually. Not yet anyways," She spoke.

You nodded and laid back down, while your friend left the room to get some ice. When she returned, you thanked her and saw her eyes scan the rest of your body. She evaluated each individual limb, and stopped when you reached out to scratch your leg. "Woah, this cut kind of looks like you've been mauled by a tiny bear," Michelle exclaimed when she grabbed your hand, raising your finger so you could see.

There were a series of small cuts littered along the side of your pinky finger, that spread down the side of your hand. You quirked a brow at her, but silently agreed. "It feels like my whole body was mauled by a giant bear," you sighed dramatically, and draped your forearm across your eyes. Michelle patted your leg and gave you a sympathetic look.

The two of you had a long conversation that night. You went through every possibility together, experiencing a collage of emotions and becoming more at ease. The last point the two of you discussed was the soulmate theory.

"It's really not that weird," Michelle debated with you. "I think it's really fascinating, and I'd probably like you more if you were one of them." You looked over at her miffed, and sarcastically replied, "Thanks...and I know, but I still think it's a bit strange." Her next response peaked your interest.

"Maybe we could try to find him," Michelle proposed. Your eyes shifted around the room while you contemplated this thought, and then you side-eyed her. "And beat some damn sense into him," she folded her hands together and visibly cracked her knuckles. You slowly put a hand over hers and lowered them down onto her lap. "I don't think he needs another beating," you explained. Michelle snorted at that, and looked at you with a smug expression. "So you agree that you have a soulmate?"

You breathed in deeply and gave in. "I guess it's not such a bad thought. Maybe it won't be so bad. And maybe I'll finally get some answers."

For the first time in a month you went to bed unafraid, and looking forward to the next day.


	2. The Lab Experiment

You had never seen Michelle so animated before.

The second you walked into school the next day, Michelle was right by your side, scoping out every boy that passed you in the hall. "Oh, what if it's him?" You followed the direction of her finger as she pointed to a rather frail looking boy from your Spanish class. You frowned a little and tilted your head towards her. "I mean, he's cute but he doesn't seem like the type to regularly get black eyes or jump into fights with bears..." you trailed off. Michelle nodded in agreement and the two of you continued down the hall.

The next six minutes before class started consisted of Michelle pointing out different boys and you trying to knock some sense into her.

"Look, I know I said we could do this, but could you just relax a little? This idea still seems a little far fetched in my opinion," you explained, raising your hands in defense. Michelle sighed, and tried to play things off indifferently. She perked up again though when the two of you were just about to walk into first period. "Wait, what about him?" She tugged your arm right as you traveled through the doorframe. Rolling your eyes, you pulled your arm out of her grasp. "I said let it go, Michelle-," she cut you off, "No, I'm serious this time. Look." You turned your head as two boys you recognized from your chemistry class walked by. You caught the eye of the boy on the right, but he quickly looked away when the first bell rang.

"Which boy am I looking at?" You quizzed, still staring at the soft brunet as him and his friend quickened their paces to get to class. "The one on the right," Michelle replied. You thought about it for a moment. Peter and Ned seemed like troublemakers. They were always laughing to themselves at the back of class, interrupting the teacher with their jokes and banter, and seemed to miss class at least twice a week. At least Peter did, anyways.

You had noticed collages of bruises littering his body in the past, but had never thought about matching them to yours. It seemed unlikely that your 'soulmate' would've been that close to you the whole time.

" I don't think so," you said as the two boys rounded the corner out of your sight. You turned your gaze back into the room you had arrived at a minute ago, and pulled an unwilling Michelle towards your desks.

::.

You did your best to avoid Michelle the rest of the day. It all seemed a little too fast for your liking, and you started to feel like the universe was making a joke out of the situation you were in.

As you slid onto the bar stool at your chemistry lab table, thankfully the last class of the day, your hand caught the edge of the stone slab. Conveniently, that's right where your still-healing scratches were. Immediately, your hand flared up angrily and you gripped it tightly in attempts to apply pressure and stop the pain. Sighing, you placed your head into the crook of your arm on the table, still grasping your throbbing hand.

The remaining minutes of passing period went by, and the bell rang, signaling class to start. You unconsciously glanced toward the back of the room to see if Peter was present, but your eyes only found Ned, half asleep with his face cradled in the palm of his hand. Your attention fixed back to the front when the teacher announced that a new lab was to begin, and that one lab partner should pick up a list of items placed on the side counter. It was then that you noticed the absence of your own lab partner.

You slumped slightly, because you hated doing labs by yourself. Remembering a certain raven haired boy, you looked back to see if Ned was still alone, only to find that he had paired up with another single student in front of him. Sullenly, you picked yourself off your stool and went to grab your lab equipment.

15 minutes later, you found yourself testing the reactions of halogens. It wasn't as difficult as you had expected, but you were falling behind the rest of your peers as they had double the amount of hands while you had practically one and a half that were well-functioning. Attempting to put the test tube of the potassium bromide solution back into the rack, your arm knocked the entire thing clean off your lab table, sending multiple test tubes flying in different directions. Your heart dropped as the class turned to look at the damage. As you slowly bent down to start cleaning up the mess, you heard a knock at the back of the room and a disheveled looking Peter peer through the glass of the door. The teacher motioned for a student to let him in as he bent down to shoo you away from the spilled chemicals.

You stood up and sighed, smoothing your shirt down in the process. Peter peeked over a row of students and caught your expression, but you looked down to avoid his gaze, embarrassed. "Mr. Parker, it's very nice of you to join us. Why don't you and Ms. (Y/L/N) take a seat at one of the empty tables in the back, and I'll help you get started on a new experiment in a moment," The teacher said authoritatively.

"I'm really sorry," you explained. "Is there anything I can do to help you clean up?" Your teacher looked up at you with a blank expression. "No, it's alright (Y/N), please go take a seat."

You picked up your pencils and swung your bag over your shoulder. Carefully maneuvering around the shattered glass, you made your way to the back of the room towards Peter and dropped your back pack on the ground. Immediately, you covered your face with your hands, and sighed.

"You know, you really should wash your hands before touching your face after working with chemicals," the voice beside you said. You dropped your hands back onto the table and side eyed Peter, who was looking towards the mess that you made a minute ago. He then noticed your wary stare and fumbled, trying to rephrase his previous words, "W-well, I mean-, it's just that you don't want to get any harsh chemicals that were on your hands in your eyes, you know?" You chuckled dryly and proceeded to cover your face with your hands again. "Honestly Peter, I wish I had an entire bottle of potassium chloride to dump in my eyes, because at least then I wouldn't have to face the wrath of my peers' incessant stares and not-so-quiet whispers," you replied dramatically, signaling to the girls snickering in your direction. Peter smiled at what you said, but sent a frown in the direction of the girls. They went quiet and turned back to their work.

The teacher was over shortly after that, with a new set of test tubes and insisted that Peter handled the chemicals this time. You accepted that proposition readily, but did your best to examine the outcomes of each solution.

Shortly after you discovered that the chlorine solution was the strongest bleaching agent, your attention was brought to the boy next to you. He was having a conversation with Ned, who was sat three tables ahead. Your curiosity got the best of you, and you tuned in even though Peter seemed to be trying to keep the conversation relatively private (and failing miserably).

"I don't know, Ned....no, not right now. It's just a little sore-," He seemed to feel your stare, because he immediately stopped mid sentence and turned his attention to you. "Um, I was uh...just checking my answers...did you get the answer to number three?" You looked at him funny and peered down at the answer sheet before responding, "Yeah...I think we're all finished." Peter's face heated up, but he seemed pleased with that because he began to gather up the test tubes. You watched as he clumsily stood with the lab equipment and rushed to return it to the other side of the room.

You eyed him curiously as he tripped over one of the legs of a stool, but silently applauded when he safely placed the glass tubes on the counter. No need for another test tube funeral.

You sat by yourself in the midst of the loud classroom, filled with casual conversations between the students who finished before you. Peter gingerly rubbed his jaw, and that's when you noticed the dull ache in your own jaw had returned from the night before. You watched as Peter walked up to Ned's table and leaned in to speak quietly with him. He looked down at the lab table and fiddled with his hands, nodding occasionally to whatever Ned was saying. The bell rang as you watched their exchange, and the two of them slowly rose up from their seats and made their way to the door at the back of the room. Peter paused when he passed you and backtracked. You watched as he extended his hand and placed your pencil down in front of you. "Sorry, I think I accidentally grabbed your pencil when I took all of the test tubes back," he explained, scratching the back of his neck. You smiled and thanked him, returning your pencil to the smallest zipper on your backpack.

"Don't go pouring any hazardous chemicals in your eyes. And uh, you should wash those hands of yours," he joked and you laughed quietly as you caught his eye. "I won't. And thanks," you replied. He nodded and made his way out of the room, catching up to Ned who was waiting at the door. You could see the slight blush on his cheeks as he shoved his hands into his pockets. He looked back at you as he rounded the corner.

Your smile faded when he disappeared. You gathered up your backpack and walked over to the faucet, turning it on as hot as it went. As you lathered up your hands, you thought back to the assortment of scrapes you noticed on Peter's hand as he placed your pencil down on the table. Your thoughts ran miles in your head as the water ran colder.


	3. The Dilemma

"You know what doesn't make sense?" You questioned, looking up from your Spanish homework and eyeing Michelle. "Why has this just started now? I've been going to school with Peter for five years now. So why didn't it all start five years ago?" Michelle smirked and you regretted asking, because she responded with, "Maybe it's because he just hit puberty." You sighed deeply and chucked your pencil in her direction. It bounced off her leg and rolled under your bed. "I'm serious," you whined. 

Right after chemistry ended, you had met Michelle at her locker and told her to come to your house. The two of you spent most of the evening laying on your bed and chatting about what you experienced in class earlier that day.

"I thought you didn't believe it was Peter," Michelle teased you. "Does (Y/N) have a crush?" You ignored her lovey expression and turned back to the work in front of you. "I don't, I'm just saying hypothetically-," you stopped when your mom quietly knocked on the door and peeked her head into your room. 

"It's eight o'clock, Michelle should be going home soon." You nodded in her direction and stood up. Michelle began gathering her things and you kneeled down to grab your pencil hidden behind the blankets that had fallen off your bed.

"I know it's easier said than done, but don't take it so seriously. Even if Peter is your 'soulmate'-," Michelle made air quotes using her hands, "-by some magical force of the universe, it's not like you have to act on it. Sometimes soulmates are platonic." You shrugged at this. That did make you feel better, if only in the slightest. "Well that still doesn't answer the initial question of what the heck is he doing to cause stuff like this?" You gestured wildly to the parade of injuries on your body and threw your hands up in despair. 

Michelle looked at you sympathetically and walked to the bedroom door. "Maybe you should ask him," she suggested. She twisted the handle and turned around before she left the room, "I'll see you tomorrow okay? Thanks for doing homework with me." You waved goodbye as she closed the door behind her. 

You contemplated what Michelle said. What would Peter say if you asked him about the scratches on his hand? Or the discolored area of his jaw? How would he react if you asked him for his opinion on soulmates? Your eyes widened in horror as you thought that, and imagined every possible scenario going wrong. There was no way you were Peter's type, and you were pretty sure that Peter wasn't your type either. Especially not with all this trouble he was getting into.

::.

On the other side of town, Peter was getting into trouble. BIG trouble.

Right after school ended, Peter caught word of a thief who had successfully broken into multiple houses and stolen jewelry while he threatened the people inside. The police were doing their best to track the man down, but Peter was one step ahead of them. He ran to the nearest alley and stripped down, struggling to pull up the loose spandex of his Spider-Man suit. After tripping once and having to use the wall as balance, Peter finally got the suit on and pressed his palm to his chest, which immediately tightened the suit to his body. Then he was off.

It was a lot harder to find the criminal than Peter had originally anticipated. The man was good at laying low, but with the help of the technology that the suit came with, Peter was able to track him down within a couple of hours. When he finally caught sight of the man, Peter was quick to attack, but was shocked to see the strength that the man withheld. It was safe to say that Peter was not expecting the the force the man punched him with, effectively throwing him to the ground. Nor was he anticipating just how much damage a boot to the arm could do; the criminal practically crushed it underneath his weight. Peter grunted in pain, and grabbed the man's ankle with his free hand, tugging him to the ground next to him. He webbed the criminal's legs to the ground, and was just about to do the same to his arms, but sprung up into the air when a bullet was fired at him. 

"Woah man, you have a gun? Have you had that this whole time?" Peter asked while webbing himself up to rest on one of the ceiling beams. The man continued to fire the gun rapidly, shooting in the direction that Peter fled to. He tried mercilessly to free himself from the web that held him down, but it wouldn't budge. 

When the sound of bullets subsided, Peter cautiously looked down to the ground where the man was currently webbed to. He appeared to be searching for something distractedly. Peter took this as an opportunity to shoot a web to the adjacent wall and he swung across the warehouse. He had no time to react as he watched the man quickly reload his gun, and his eyes widened as multiple bullets were shot in his direction. The bullets snapped the web Peter was using, and he fell to the ground ungracefully, tumbling into a pile of wooden boxes that crashed over him. He could hear the criminal cursing at him, telling him to man up and fight, and threatening to kill him if he didn't un-web his legs. Peter rolled his eyes and kicked his way out of the pile of boxes he was under, before sprinting over to the nearest hiding place. He crouched on the ground and replied to the man, "Dude, what are you talking about? I'm pretty sure you've been meaning to kill me this entire time, whether I let you out of the webs or not." Peter flew out from behind his hiding spot and shot a web to the ceiling, swinging across the room and kicking the criminal's gun away in the process. He dropped down to the floor and walked up to the man. 

The fear on his face was evident as Peter webbed his hands and arms to the floor and knelt down next to his torso. Leaning in slightly, Peter began to speak, "In case you haven't noticed, I have a job to do. And that job is to put oxygen thieving, sad acts like yourself-," Peter recoiled when the man spat directly into his goggle, but quickly recovered by shooting a web to cover his mouth. He held up a finger to show that he was not having it. "Okay, first of all that's disgusting, second of all, I think we're done here, dude." 

Peter stood up from his spot on the ground and turned to walk away after he scribbled a note the the police who would arrive shortly. He brushed the dirt off his suit as he escaped the warehouse, and checked the time. It was nearing eight o'clock, meaning that Peter had about an hour before his scheduled curfew time that May set for week days. He webbed himself across town easily, taking the long way home so he could pop in by Ned and say a quick hello. Ned was the only person that knew Peter was Spider-Man, and Peter was adamant on keeping it that way. 

Ned opened the window when Peter knocked gently on it, and he crawled through it carefully, softly landing on the floor. 

The two of them talked about Peter's encounter with the criminal for a while. Ned reacted in the most dramatic and hilarious ways while Peter told his story, and by the end, they were both in stitches. 

"You're telling me," Ned paused to snort from laughing too hard, "that he SPAT on you? Like in the face?" "Stop laughing, it's not funny!" Peter exclaimed, rubbing his hands over his eyes. He shuddered, "I can still feel the ghost of his saliva." Ned burst into another fit of laughter, but immediately stopped when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside his door. 

"Get in the closet!" He ushered Peter through the small door on the opposite wall, and tried to look as casual as possible when his mom poked her head through the door. "What is going on in here?" Her tone suggested she'd been trying to sleep, and Peter cringed from behind the closet door. They'd been too loud.

Ned replied sheepishly, "I...was...watching-," his mother held her hand out to stop him and abruptly cut him off, "Don't finish that sentence, I don't want to know. Just keep it down in here." She eyed the room one last time before disappearing back down the hall. 

Peter poked his head out of the closet and looked at Ned incredulously. "Porn Ned? Really?" Ned shrugged and motioned Peter back over to sit next to him. "Hey, it's worked for me before." Peter walked back over to Ned and signaled their handshake. "And that's my cue to leave," Peter chuckled. "I should probably get back home. Aunt May might start worrying." 

Peter and Ned exchanged goodbyes and he left the house quietly. He made his way down a couple blocks to his apartment, and attempted to climb up to his window, but cried out in pain when he started to lift his arm above his head. Confused, Peter braced himself and reached up again to grab onto a ledge. He painfully hoisted his body up to his floor, and slid in through the window, locking it behind him. Flopping down on his bed, he pressed his hand to his chest and the suit loosened around his sore muscles. 

Peter lifted his head from his pillow slightly to look at the angry boot-shaped bruise that was forming on his upper arm. He cringed when he poked at it, and dropped his head back down onto his bed. The Criminal sure put a lot of weight into his arm when he was down. Peter knew that the next few days were not going to be easy, nor comfortable with an injury like that. 

Slowly, he stripped out of his suit and threw it into his closet, hidden from Aunt May's sight. He grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and popped a couple aspirin, and glanced down the hallway towards his Aunt's room, where the door was closed and the lights were off. She must have gone to bed before Peter got home. He read the note left on the kitchen table, which read that there was leftover dinner in the fridge and that he shouldn't go to bed too late. 

Sighing, Peter dragged his tired body back to his room and slipped under the covers of his bed. His lamp on the desk next to him shone brightly, and he stretched over to turn it off. His arm screamed with pain as he finally flicked the off switch, and he rubbed it soothingly while he relaxed into the cool sheets. Quickly, Peter fell into a dreamless sleep.


End file.
